The Unended
by Pipsy
Summary: Reid once saved a life that didn't want to be saved. Gideon left two sons behind. Now, an UnSub that threatens more than just a BAU member's life reunites Gideon and the team for a final case that will change everything forever.  Discontinued story.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**- see profile. I do not own "Criminal Minds", its characters, or recognizable storylines used in canon. I also make no profit whatsoever from this story or any other fanfic and no property or copyright infringement is intended.

**Summary**- Reid once saved a life that didn't want to be saved. Gideon left two sons behind. Now, an UnSub that threatens more than just a BAU member's life reunites Gideon and the team for a final case that will change everything forever.

**Categories**- Angst, emotional whump, hurt/comfort, suspence, mystery, friendship

**Author's Note**- Standard. See profile. This was written before season five, so Hotch's bits may seem a little off; for the sake of not getting a headache, this is still going to be set in late season four when I started it. ("Nameless, Faceless" took some of the wind out of my sails with what happened to Hotch because it has close relation to what happens here early on, but I wasn't going to ditch this just because "Criminal Minds" did it on-screen while I was working on a previous fic I'd started. Hope you still like it anyway. Besides- it's Reid!) Also, if some of this seems unrealistic, please note that I'm vague on the point of the actual extent of what happens and I'll clarify later (when it won't suck away the drama and tension). Feel free to imagine whatever you want- that's the point of being vague! Oh, and the girly song mentioned in here was supposed to be "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" but I had to take out the lyrics since it's against guidelines. It was a better contrast with it in, but oh well. (Sorry if I'm confusing you at all, but you'll know what I'm talking about after you've read this chapter!) For the same reason, the quotes used aren't really quotes but were written for the story.

**Rating**- PG-13

**Warnings-** This story contains moderate-to-severe **portrayals of violent acts**, such as **stabbings and torture**. There is also a lot of angst and trauma. This is not a horror story but it is _not_ a very happy fic either, so don't expect a lot of warm fuzzy feelings, although there will be some cute character moments.

**The Unended**

The team was wrapping up from a case, freshly home and ready for a good night's sleep. Morgan, however, was pressing for a team dinner and most had grudgingly constented, including Penelope. Spencer was the odd man out, but they all understood; the case had been difficult and grueling, particularly for Spencer, who'd been thrown into the thicket of it by the UnSub's coded messages. As a result, he'd hardly had any sleep in the last seventy-two hours and it was clear the kid could barely keep his eyes open.

"Maybe you should call a cab." Morgan suggested.

Stiffling a yawn, Reid shook his head. "It's a ten-minute drive and almost completely straight; I can make it that far without going to sleep." he refused.

Morgan shrugged. "Whatever ya say, but if I have to scrape you off the side of the road, be prepared to pay." he warned in a brotherly but not condescending manner.

Reid smiled in amusement past his extreme exhaustion, hand's stuffed in his pockets and hair wild and, as always, his eyes were underscored by dark circles. Secretly, he loved the treatment but knew better than to air it, aware that the team didn't need any encouragement to baby him or view him as a kid. Sighing softly, he picked up his messanger bag and slipped it over his shoulder, then waved good-night to the team. J.J. gave him a peck on the cheek and told him they'd miss him tonight- especially Henry- and he promised her he'd be there for the next night. It was a brief exchange, but they were always cherished to Spencer, who had never had much family or friends in his life and so always appreciated the value of his teammates, whom he held as both and never took for granted. He understood to a depth that they probably never would the importance of having people to be loved by.

"Get some rest." J.J. advised, then flicked her eyes to the others in the room so they'd know they were all being addressed. "We have a new case we're starting tomorrow. It's local, but there are indications of escalation, so we don't want to waste any time."

"What kind of UnSub are we talking about?" Rossi asked, interested.

Spencer was eager to leave but lingered, waiting for J.J.'s reply, which came without delay. "A serial killer targeting under-the-table prostitutes who he mutilates and stabs to death. No apparent sexual assault."

Rossi nodded but didn't comment and every one understood why; another case for another day. Tonight, they needed to wash away the blood and hatred and terror that had poisoned their hours and choked their minds. Every day a little more of them was tarnished and the only way to counter the affects was to get out, socialize a little, laugh a little, love a little, and get what sleep they could with something behind their eyes other than the images and smells of murder and death.

Spencer sighed tiredly and didn't bother repeating his good-nights.

Departing with long if tired strides, he made it down the elevator and to his car in the garage, digging out his keys before he got there to unlock it while he was still walking. It beeped, he closed the gap, opened the door, and got inside, starting the engine and pulling out moments later. _Ten minutes_, he repeated to himself as he turned up the radio with another yawn, _ten minutes and then you can sleep... finally._

The black road engulfed in black night broken only by whisps of moonlight stealing through the clouds above and the headlights of his car beyond passed him in a steady and familiar blur, the road home. The code he'd worked so arduously on repeated like a tick in his mind but he was unbothered by it, much preffering the numbers and letters to the images of the lifeless and beaten bodies he'd stood over at the crime scenes, and he let everything but the black road disappear.

**CMCMCM**

Deciding to carpool, the rest of the BAU took two SUVs, Morgan at the wheel of the head vehicle with Penelope and the girls, Hotch at the other with Rossi. Music filtered through the air- neither soft nor blasting- with Morgan grinning as the girls teased him; not about the music, but at men's attatchment to driving.

"You know, it's a fact that women are safer drivers than men." Emily stated from the backseat.

"Yet men have a compulsion to get behind the wheel of whatever car they're in- even if it's not _theirs_!" Penelope joined in.

"Oh, Baby Doll, don't be like that!" Derek crooned to his girl, who blushed appropriately at the lavishing. "Maybe I just want to give you all a break, show a little chivalry."

Prentiss smirked. "Really? Somehow, I doubt that." she laughed.

In the trailing car, the conversation and enviroment was more subdued, the senior agents chatting in amusement and somewhat somberly reflecting on their personal relationships. Hotch, now divorced with a son he rarely saw, could easily project how his future would look ten years from now and it was far from all he wished it would be. In response, Rossi lightly gave encouragement and some antectdotes to show him it wasn't all negative or written in stone. Hotch smiled, not fully reassured but appreciative.

"I just think one day, Jack will start yelling at me for not being there when he was growing up, for letting my job ruin the marriage, and tell me that I don't know him, anymore than he knows me. And I won't be able to say anything, because- he'll be right." Hotch lamented, watching the road.

Rossi couldn't deny what he said had merit but, on the other hand, "It doesn't have to be that way. The job _does_ take up a lot of time and focus, but if you're there when you can be and if you show him you love him... one day he'll understand, even if he doesn't always." he counciled.

Hotch nodded. "I look at my team," he went on, "and how many of them have father issues; Morgan's died, Reid's left. I know how much parents can screw up their children, especially when they're not there; that it leaves holes and hurts self-image. It can even squewer a person's views on relationships and families, make it nearly impossible for them to have their own functioning ones." Hotch sighed, shaking his head regretfully. "I don't want to do that to Jack."

There was silence for a moment as Hotch contemplated his troubles and Rossi considered his reply. There wasn't much he could say that hadn't been said before, that the agent didn't already know, but finally he found a tidbit that seemed important. "You know, there's more to being a father than how much time you spend with him. It's about what you teach him. You _are_ who _you_ are; you can compromise that for him and take a desk job, something with fewer hours and more pay, but he'll learn to make those same sacrifices and maybe he'll even blame himself for your unhappiness and spend his life trying to make it up to you. I'm not saying that your happiness is the only thing that matters, but a balance _has_ to be found and an example made for Jack. You're a good man and you're smart; I know you'll find the way, Aaron."

This time, when Hotch looked over to his subordinate and saw the faith and confidence in his eyes, the smile that touched his features was not forced and he gripped the stearing wheel. He just hoped David was right.

**CMCMCM**

His keys jangled as he unlocked his house door, the dark cocooning him as Spencer gratefully opened it, tired and only half-awake. With a heavy sigh, he stepped into the familiar entryway, hanging his keys up on the hook and putting his messanger bag down as he closed the door without turning around. A stream of pale moonlight coming through the living room window beyond silhuetted the furniture and objects occupying his home enough so that he could see what he was doing without turning on the light.

_Bed, _was his lone thought.

He ran a hand through his hair, then lurched forward suddenly as pain crippled his back, a hand on his shoulder, and gasped. He collided with the nightstand in front of him, knocking over the books, and he clawed its edge, incomprehensive of what was happening until his mind finally foggily deduced the only possible reality. _He was being attacked._

Another pain as the knife- it had to be blade of some sort- was pulled out, but before he could register any kind of relief when it was gone, it was plunged in again. This time he screamed, arching back, and a hand was clamped over his mouth. He tasted the salt of cold sweaty flesh but, barely able to breathe now and knowing only excruciating pain, the fact was insignificant. Then, the person behind him pulled up closely, the knife still inside him, and he pressed his face against Reid's head.

"It could have been stopped." a voice whispered. "Do you understand? It's your fault. _You _did this!" it snarled accusitorily, outraged and pained, hot lips and breath against his ear.

Spencer knew that voice... _where?_

Reid wanted to cry out, to ask what was going on, because he _didn't_ understand, but there was only a muffled sound of agony against the hand, and the knife twisted suddenly, punishing him for his efforts. Fire exploded, engulfing every tortured nerve, and his knees went weak as he screamed despite himself. The UnSub kept him from falling by hoisting him with the knife- more blinding pain- and grabbed the back of the collar of his shirt, then he was thrust forward, over the table. The knife was taken out and Reid gasped sharply- the hand gone as he was frisked and his gun tossed away- and he heaved lungfulls of air into his shocked and shaking body.

Then he was yanked around, legs clumsily making the turn, and again he was held up only by the UnSub and the table behind him. Reid blinked, tears and darkness obstructing his vision, but something about the slender form in front of him was very familiar. Then the moonlight touched the man's melevolant face as he leaned in, and horror and regret and understanding washed Spencer in that instant, even as the face nearly touched his and pain throbbed up his back, and the hand clutching his shoulder knotted tighter in the fabric of the shirt.

_"Nathan..."_

He _did_ know him; he remembered Nathan Harris like an unfinished chapter of a book, because he'd known when he'd left the young man that it wasn't over, that there would be consequences for saving his life. But he hadn't expected... Reid's heart wrenched, remembering how Nathan had come to him, pleading for help, how they'd done nothing even after he'd told them about his desires- his fantasies about killing women. They knew he'd act on them one day, but the law was clear and there was nothing that they could do but advise him to go to a clinic... And Nathan had tried to kill himself afterward to end it, to prevent those fantasies from coming to frutation.

But Reid had saved him. And, in saving him, other lives had been risked- now lost. _"A serial killer targeting under-the-table prostitutes who he mutilates and stabs to death." _J.J.'s report rang in his ears. It was him, and Nathan had come to Quantico to do it because he had to make them- make _him_- understand their liabilty. It was their fault.

_His._

"Now it's going to end. But, before I go, you have to come with me. Do you _understand_?" Nathan declared, face pinched and red with anger and tears, self-hatred and hatred for Reid controling him as much as any sadistic compulsion, and he lunged at Reid with the knife.

Spencer automatically raised his hands in defense and, the blade tearing into his palms and bodies being thrown the next instant, the struggle for life began.

The radio blared and J.J., Prentiss, and Garcia all sang to the girly dance music, Derek cringing unhappily. Entertained by this more than anything else, the women went on, singing louder and throwing back their hair.

Reid threw himself onto Nathan, wrestling for the pocketknife with bloody hands, and they spun, crashing into things unseen in the dark. Nathan pushed him back and then lunged before Reid could recover, and the blade bore into his chest. With a cry of agony, Reid lifted his leg and kicked the attacker in the ribs, dislodging him inches and doubling him over, yet the knife remained buried. Reid grabbed for it to pull out, to stop the assualt and use it in his defense, but Nathan's hand was still on it and it was no more out than they were struggling again.

They pulled, twisted, and stumbled, strength against strength and Reid losing blood. Finally, Nathan elbowed Reid in the face and the young agent crashed on the floor. Collecting a breath and wiping his mouth, Nathan stood over him and then strode forward to turn him over and finish what he'd come here for.

Stunned, Reid barely registered when he was yanked onto his back or that Nathan was now straddling him. His eyes opened enough to see the glint of the blade in the moonlight for a split second before it descended, and then blinding hot pain in his stomach, again and again. Crying out, he reacted, throwing fists, pushing Nathan away, blocking the knife. It did little good.

_Think! Remember your training! Your training!_ he yelled to himself, and past the adrenaline and fear and pain it finally kicked in as something else occured to him; this was his home, his territory. He knew it better than Nathan; he could use that against him.

And, in the next instant, Reid reached up, grabbing a vase above him, and brought it hurdling down on Nathan's head, glass shattering. He toppled off and Reid rolled, ignoring his body's protests, and found his feet, frantically searching for his discarded gun. Where had it landed? Where was it! Where was it!

Nathan was rising and he knew he wouldn't find it in time. He had to stall him!

"N-Nathan. I know you don't want to do this." he tried to sound calm, but his shaking voice belied the effort, and he went into profiler mode. He'd talked his way out of being killed before, he could do it again. "It's my fault that it got this far- a-and I'm sorry. We should have done something when you came to us, done more to try to help you."

Nathan was on his feet now, glaring at him as he slowly approached, apparently deeming that Reid was not a threat; he would not escape and he could not change what would happen. Nathan had already decided he would die tonight, so the only thing that mattered was bringing Reid with him. He was already close to accomplishing that goal, watching the other man sway and the dark liquid that soaked his clothes glitter in the moonlight.

Reid swallowed, gaze darting quickly around the room for his gun even as he tried to maintain reassuring eye contact with Nathan, who stalked toward him deliberately. "But, I promise you, if you let me, I'll help you now. I'll make sure of it." he coaxed.

Angry tears glistened in Nathan's eyes, young face hard as he shook his head. "It's too late for that." he responded coldly, definitely.

Reid knew then that he wasn't going to be able to talk him down. Nathan had already condemned himself for what he'd done- and Reid along with him.

"You can change-"

He never got the chance to finish the sentence as Nathan- done with the conversation and with a furious growl- lunged forward and swung down with the knife, cutting across Reid's throat. Spencer spun at the contact, shocked and panicked for a moment that his cartirode artery had been severed, but realized an instant later as he clutched his neck that there wasn't enough blood. There was no time for relief to set in, however, and he was pulled back to face Nathan.

The knife came down but Spencer caught his arm, stopping him, and they battled for dominance. Nathan had the advantage that Reid was pinned against a wall until Reid used it to push off and send them staggering backward, pinwheeling Nathan around. Every part of his body hurt so much, the room was spinning, it was hard to breathe... but Spencer couldn't think about any of that right now. He had to survive, had to stop Nathan.

The knife lowered and turned in as the struggle continued and Reid began to win against all odds. Straining, at last the blade found home in Nathan's waist as Reid used all of his strength. The younger man growled in anger and pain but hadn't given up. Instead, he fought more vehemently and, with a wild spin, threw the agent off, leaving the knife embeded in his stomach. Pulling it out as Spencer landed on the carpet, he breathed heavily, pushing back the fiery pain.

Groaning, Spencer forced his eyes to open, groggy and blurry, but desperation driving him on, and he looked over his shoulder to see Nathan preparing for another attack. He had to get away...

Clammering to his feet with what seemed like the last of his energy, Reid ran, trying to escape, stumbling toward the bedroom. Nathan's heavy, fast steps followed him and Spencer made it inside but couldn't get the door closed before he was tackled. Both men landed on the bed, Reid trembling and heart pounding as, absently, the reality he was dying entered the back of his mind with an absurd clarity and calm.

_Mom... I didn't get to say good-bye_.

It was his lone registered regret as he fought with Nathan, the blade coming at him again and again...

**CMCMCM**

"My first wife made a lasagna to die for!" Rossi shared, the road still passing in darkness as they continued their drive to the resturaunt. It would be a few more minutes yet, but no one really minded. "Three layers of ricotta cheese, spinach, and a meat sauce that was out of this world! I tell ya, there was nothing like coming home to the smell of her cooking." he recounted.

Hotch smiled with a laugh. "Haley wasn't big on cooking. But she had a way of lighting up the room and making everything from the day wash away..." he reciprocated fondly.

**CMCMCM**

Bolting as he got free, blood running from the corner of his mouth, this time it was his own feet that brought Reid down, tripping in the living room when his legs failed to coordinate. He gasped as he landed, the impact jarring his wounds, and tears slid from his tightly shut eyes, one arm underneath his body. Nathan, sporting enough wounds of his own to make him weak but no less determined, slowly approached from behind, staggering a little on unsteady legs.

Reid heaved heavy, labored breaths rapidly, terror and the excruciating agony that was his body gripping him beyond controlled functioning, his lungs unable to draw enough air and burning. Then his eyes opened and lifted and, for a moment Reid didn't recognize what he saw, staring blankly at what lay right in front of him. _It was his gun_. Disbelief flooded him but, knowing he had to act as Nathan closed in and readied for what would be his final assault, Reid reached out with the arm underneath him, grabbing it, and whirled around. His finger tightened on the trigger, firing before he saw Nathan or Nathan saw the gun, and he didn't stop. His attacker looming over him jerked back with each impact until the clip was empty.

_Please, let it be enough..._

Reid didn't know how many had hit or where or if he'd hit anything vital and, knowing he was out of options and with no way out if Nathan came back charging at him, he stared in rapt apprehension as the young man- still just a kid- staggered backward, then stood still for a moment in the pale half-light of the moon, shocked. Nathan's eyes rose from his chest and locked with Spencer's for a breathless eternity- attacker and victim, unsub and agent, troubled teen and mentor... then Nathan crumpled to the floor in a heap.

Shaking, Reid stared at his still form for a moment, half expecting him to get back up. But he didn't. _You need to get help_, he reminded himself, ordering himself to action. He moved, sloppily and slowly, unable to breathe properly- one of his lungs must have been collapsed by a nick- and made it to his feet. Almost immediately he fell back down. His body spasmed, curling on the floor with tight waves of pain arching through him. But he fought it back with raw determination; as much as he wanted to just sink into the numb darkness beckoning him, he knew he couldn't or else he'd die.

Blinking back tears and with a great effort, he pulled himself back up, shaking, and stumbled his way to the bedroom, clutching everything in his path to hold him upright and leaning on the walls. He didn't know where his cell had gone- it was lost somewhere in the fight- but he had a land phone by his bed. He clung to the doorframe, trembling from exertion and heart racing, then gathered himself to lurch to the bed, half-falling on it when his legs buckled as anticipated. He crawled, clinging to the sheets, around the side of the matress, hoping he'd picked the right way. He reached out, feeling for the lamp table.

A wave of relief hit him as his hand made uncordinated contact with the corner, and he searched for the phone, finding it after a floundering moment. The darkness washed around him, behind his eyes, creeping over him inside- he _hated_ the dark!- and he shivered. Spencer couldn't see the numbers, didn't have the energy to even open his eyes, and could barely remember what it was he was doing. Something important... call someone... His fingers pressed blindly on the buttons, managing to hit a speed dial, but then the phone fell from his numb grasp, unable to hold out any longer.

It hurt... It hurt so bad... Reid couldn't breathe, gasping, but his chest was tight and it tore his lungs every time he tried to fill them, and it took so much effort and he never got what he needed... He was so tired... he couldn't think... what was happening? He couldn't remember... he didn't know. Just that it hurt, and it was dark. _Terrible darkness and pain._

Clutching the sheets, the last functioning part of his brain pulled them to his chest- trying to stem the bleeding- as he slid sidewise onto the floor, Spencer unable to hold himself up any longer, his strength gone. And he shivered as the darkness came for him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Morgan chuckled as he switched the radio over to a more urban channel and the ladies protested in good fun, harresing him and talking amongst themselves about men and their relationships, almost ignoring Morgan. He was laughing at the dialogue and the anectdotes being recounted when his phone rang. Digging it out of his pocket as he drove, he checked the ID before answering.

_Reid._

Morgan smiled and wondered what the kid was up to now. "Hey, Reid," Morgan greeted, putting the phone up to his ear with a smile, "don't tell me you changed your mind already! I expected you to be fast asleep by now." he joked.

...Silence.

"Reid?" he repeated, a little bewildered. But, wait- after a moment he realized there _was_ something, soft and barely audible... Tuning out the girls and turning down the radio, he focused his hearing on the sounds on the other end... Then bewilderment turned into horror as he recognized the faint tones of gurgling and choked breathing.

He put the phone down in his lap and yanked the car around with both hands, tires screeching loudly and the girls yelping while horns blared, but he didn't care, and he picked up the phone again.

**CMCMCM**

"What's he doing?" Rossi wondered.

Hotch shook his head, face grave. "Call Prentiss." he instructed curtly as he turned the wheel sharply, following his agent.

**CMCMCM**

"Morgan, what's going on? What are you doing?" J.J. demanded, perplexed and worried.

He spared her a glance, but only to tell her; "Call 911! Get an ambulance over to Reid's house, now!" Then, into the phone, he gently but urgently called Spencer's name. "Reid? Are you there, kid? Come on, talk to me!"

J.J. complied but by now all three were worried, Prentiss was on the line with Hotch, who obviously knew something was wrong, and Garcia looked nearly frantic. Hoping maybe they could make some sense of it and at least figuring they should be hearing what he was so they _could_ understand, Morgan turned his phone on to speaker, and the sounds of Reid struggling to breathe- fluid choking every pain-filled gasp- became the focal point in the car.

Emily and Garcia paled and J.J.'s face drew with horror. "Is that...?" J.J. looked to Morgan and the others, but they were just as helpless as Morgan raced, putting on his lights and accelorating the vehicle in the need to get to Reid. J.J.'s attention went back to the phone- more garbled noises that were becoming farther apart and weaker- and tears that were barely held at bay filled her eyes. "Spence? Spence," she called, leaning closer to the phone, "can you hear me? You gotta hold on, okay? Just hold on! We're coming, okay?"

Her voice was edged with panic, but there was authority as well; they were _not_ going to lose him!

_What_ _was going on?_ What had happened? But there were no answers, no clues, and all any of them could do was imagine, every worst-case scenario running through their minds, the sounds on the phone playing to the scenes... What had happened? He'd been fine- she'd been _with_ him- only twenty minutes ago! He was going to go home, go to bed, get some rest and come back to work the next morning and start on the new case. What could have happened in that space of time? Was someone taking vengeance on him or was it a completely random attack? Had he fallen asleep at the wheel and gotten into a car accident? Was he lying under a pile of twisted metal right now, dying in the darkness?

She didn't know, she _couldn't_, but her mind imagined a thousand different possibilities with her companions as they raced back down the churning road to his house, every minute far too long.

"Come on, kid, stay with me!" Morgan ordered. "Can you tell me what's happening, what's going on?" he asked, trying to keep Reid focused, keep him thinking and alert. But there was no response. "Kid... Look, we're on our way, just keep listening to me. We'll be there in a couple of minutes, paramedics are on their way. Come on, talk to me!"

Garble. Gasp. Croak. And then... "_Mor-gan?_" The end of the confused and pained single word was punctuted with another labored breath that tore at Derek's heart and the sheer effort it took him to speak made his fear rise up further still.

Yet, he was infinately relieved to hear Spencer's voice. "Yeah, I'm right here. Keep talking to me. How are you doing? Where are you hurt?" he asked, keeping up the line of questioning.

There was no reply.

"_Reid!_" Morgan demanded, heart catching every time there was a lull in the noise that told him his best friend was alive. Jaw clenching as his urgency hit a new level with the image of Reid dying, his foot went further down on the peddle until it could go no further.

**CMCMCM**

_The air smelled like vanilla. Spencer smiled, coming home and breathing in deeply; he loved it when his mom baked. She was wonderful at making cookies. He set his backpack down on the floor and walked to the kitchen; he could hear his mom moving about, pans clanking and oven creaking. The sun streamed in from the window..._

He was so cold, and wet, and Reid shivered on the floor, confused by the feelings that didn't belong in the memory.

_Then he heard his dad's voice and he stilled, listening as his mom chuckled and then shrieked. "Honey! He'll be home any minute, we can't-"_

_She was silenced but, from the sounds in the kitchen, Spencer didn't think she minded. Continuing forward, he entered and saw his parents, his mom leaned back against the counter and his dad pressed against her, smiling mischieviously. They saw him and immediately his dad relented his efforts and stepped back, although the grin stayed._

_"Hey, there, slugger!" his dad greeted, coming over to him and bending low to wrap him in a tight bear hug. "How's my main man doin'?"_

_His hair was ruffled as his dad stood and Spencer smiled up at him, eyes bright. "Okay. I aced my exam!" he reported, proudly showing the test._

_"Well, was there any doubt?" his mom half-joked._

_His dad took the report, looking it over. "Wow, that's great!" he praised. After a second of inspection, he glanced at his son conspiritorily. "You know what, I think this calls for a celebration." And, before his mom could object, he snatched a handful of cookies off from a plate and, ignoring the withering but somewhat playful glare he got from her, they sat down at the table to eat, pouring tall glasses of milk, and his mom reluctantly joined them, grinning._

Reid moaned involuntarily, drawing another breath but failing to make it deep, to fill the need for air in his tight, agonized lungs. His chest screamed with every movement and his body burned and ached and arched with searing, indescribable pain... but he couldn't remember why, his mind clouded with fog. And he was wet and... holding something. What? Why?

He heard something. Or, at least, he thought he did, but he couldn't be sure. It kept fading, in and out, and he couldn't seem to keep hold of it, to understand it, but he wanted to. At moments he thought it sounded like a voice, someone familiar and safe, but it was hard for him to think, to remember who it was. Another breath, more pain...

_Fists flew at him, Spencer utterly surrounded by the older, bigger teenagers in the school yard. He crumpled on the grass, blood smearing his nose as it broke, and hard kicks met his stomach and sides. A foot slammed down on his back and he cried out. He cried out, but no one would come to help him..._

Had he been beaten again? Maybe... but it didn't seem right. This was different, worse... this wasn't then, he concluded hazily without explanation why. But he was alone, except for that voice, nagging at him, pushing him to think, to pull away from the powerful and alluring oblivion that kept trying to fold over him, and he forced his eyes open just a crack, looking across the floor in the darkness. He saw a phone and understood groggily; he'd called someone, and now they were talking to him. But the phone was a foot away and he couldn't make out what they were saying.

_Pick- it up._ he ordered himself. And, with far greater effort and concentration than such a small task should require, he moved his arm. It felt like lead, heavy and numb and disobedient to his commands. His fingers were stiff and sticky with something and they barely twitched when he remembered he had them. He fumbled as he reached, having to try a few times before he got the reciever, his hand landing on the phone, and he dragged it back to his body, only half aware of what he was doing or why.

The voices were louder now, the speaker close to his head, and for a second he let himself drown in the comfort of their so-familiar tones as he sucked another wet and halting breath that yet again failed to give him what he needed and left him in pain, coughing and aching.

_"Reid? Can you hear me? Come on, talk to me buddy!"_

_"We're on our way, just hold on..."_

_"Reid, tell us what's going on..."_

_"Just keep breathing. Stay with me, my baby..."_

Each voice said something different and he knew something was wanted of him, but he couldn't seem to understand what and he didn't have the energy to figure it out or do any more than listen, taking one labored breath after another. The pain... in his body... at least it was starting to fade a bit. Was that a good thing? He didn't think so, but it was a pleasant relief all the same.

_"I know you're hurting, kid, but I need you to stay focused. Can you talk to me, Reid?"_

Talk? What about? What did he need to know? He couldn't find the answer but the man kept persisting so at last he decided to comply. Yet, when he opened his mouth and tried to form a noise, all that came out was a terrible croak and a burning scratchiness that errupted in his throat, causing him to swallow hard and choke and begin coughing uncontrollably. He moaned at the pain, darkness washing in tidal waves over him- in his eyes and mind- but he fought against it as he blinked back hot tears. His chest hurt but, a long minute later, the coughing fit at last subsided and he made himself try to speak again, his inability to talk frightening him far more than the pain or darkness. He could always talk, rationalize, distract; without his words he was powerless. He _needed_ to!

He forced it out, stuttering and stumbling, the action unnaturaly difficult. "_H-help!_"

It was one word but the effort expended precious breath and energy and left him trembling, all his strength gone as his eyes closed again and the world faded into fuzziness. The voices were just as vehement but muffled, far away and hard to understand- far away like his body. It was tortously impossible to breathe...

_His dad smiled at him across the table and Spencer grinned, happy as he ate his cookie, and his mom looked from his dad to him with warm sparkles in her eyes. It was so simple, so easily taken for granted, but when his mom wasn't always herself and when the world outside could be frighteing, Spencer knew to relish every ounce of peace and contentment. There was no where else he'd rather be than at that table, eating cookies and drinking milk with his parents, his world at that moment as safe and perfect and complete as it had ever been..._

Unaware that he was dying, Reid lay on the floor in a growing pool of his own blood, each breath weaker and more strained, each one failing as his heart thudded dully, fighting a losing war.

**CMCMCM**

"_Reid!"_

The lack of response was unnerving and Prentiss clutched the seat in front of her, all her focus strained on the phone that alone linked them to Reid. Was it her imagination, or were the sounds getting softer? They couldn't get to his house fast enough and when they finally swung into his driveway- the seemingly innocous home filling the windshield- it felt like an eternity had passed since the call had come in.

Hotch pulled in behind him and all five team members jumped out, pulling their guns and checking them. "Stay in here, baby girl." Morgan instructed a stricken Garcia, handing her the phone so she could keep listening. She nodded mutely and- as much as Derek wanted to comfort her- he had to get to Reid to help him, and he turned and left her, closing the car door behind him.

Taking the proper precautions, they fanned out around the house, Morgan at the adjar door. Gun at the ready, he gently nudged it open with his foot, then briskly stepped in. Everything was dark but he knew the place and he flicked the switch up on the wall, light filling the room. Immediately, he heard J.J. sucking in a sharp breath and his own was stopped cold by what he saw.

Blood covered one surface after another, in long smears and short ones, in pools and stains on the floor and walls and curtains, and everything was toppled over. There was no doubt a violent and terrible struggle had taken place. And there was little doubt about whose blood it was.

Clenching his jaw as emotions churned within him, he strode forward, following the trail into Reid's bedroom. A crimson handprint colored the doorframe and rivulets ran down to the floor, leaving an image of Reid staggering for its support in his mind- and he crossed the threshold. The bed was completely torn up, the mattress slashed and stuffing coming out of it where the blade had been errant, and, next to the bed, the sheets had fallen off and were piled in a bloody heap.

Then they jerked suddenly and a sound- a painful wheezing he'd been listening to for the last ten minutes- errupted from the mass and Morgan realized it wasn't a pile of sheets at all; it was Reid. He ran forward, confident that the others had his back, although it was by now obvious that the UnSub was no longer in the house, and he holstered his gun as he knelt, taking his friend's pale face in his hands.

"Reid!"

The kid's hair was glued to his face by sweat and blood, and cuts marred his cheeks, his lips blue and broken and one eye swollen. Reid didn't acknowledge his presense in any way and Morgan swallowed, his heartrate tripling. It was wrong to see him like this, for Reid to be lying limply, incoherent and speechless when all he ever did was talk and move and fidget like an overcharged battery.

Lifting the sheets, he was aware of Emily behind him as he got his first real look at the extent of Reid's injuries. His eyes stung, as if assaulted by the images, and he grimaced involuntarily. "Oh, kid..."

It was bad. It was worse than bad. How did Reid get into these situations? It was like he was a magnet for suffering; bad things just kept happening to him. With one look, with one recollection of all the blood he'd seen and that was soaking the sheets and seeping from his wounds, Morgan knew Reid very well might not live to get into another jam.

He put the sheets back, pressing into the wounds more firmly as resolve to do everything he could to stop that from happening pitted inside him. Reid turned his head with a soft, strangled moan in response. Even that much encouraged Morgan and he lifted Spencer's head in his hand, trying to get him to look at him.

"Reid, Reid... open your eyes!"

Prentiss knelt down next to them and Morgan grabbed her hand, putting it on the sheets. "Keep the pressure; we have to slow the bleeding until the paramedics get here." he ordered, then immediately returned his attention to Reid.

Emily flinched at the liquid oozing under her palm but didn't retract it, knowing it was important, but the thought that it was Reid's life pouring out of him horrified her. She looked up from the crimson sheets covering his body to Reid's face, studying it, trying to see if he was at all aware of them or of what was happening to him- if there was any sign of how far gone he was...

"Spencer?" she called. He didn't react but drew another sharp, short and watery breath that jerked through his body. It sounded off- even for his condition- and, with only the briefest hesitation, Emily pushed aside the sheets and Reid's tattered shirt to gain access to his chest. Leaning down, again she forced herself to ignore the sight of blood and the feel of it against her ear as she listened to one side, then the other.

She straightened. "I think one of his lungs has collapsed. He _needs_ oxygen, especially with all the blood he's losing..." she told Morgan frantically, voice tight as she processed what that meant for Spencer. The other members of the team came in to the room, sans Garcia.

"The house and yard are clear, but there was a blood trail on the steps outside the door." Rossi said. Hotch was on his cell behind him, reporting the updated situation and organizing the CSI and police squads that would be arriving shortly and checking on the progress of the ambulance, but his eyes were glued on Reid. While he was forcibly calm, the expression in his eyes belied his fear and worry.

J.J. gasped at the sudden sight of Reid and tears fell free. "Is he-?"

"He's still alive," Morgan answered quickly, "but he doesn't have much time. _Where's_ that ambulance!" he shouted, looking over to their supervisor as he closed the phone.

"ETAs three minutes."

_Three minutes... _if the kid had that long. Morgan looked back to Reid- his brother and friend. He'd made it his personal responsibility to look after Spencer, to have his back whenever he needed someone there, to make sure he was never left out in the cold or dealing with something by himself. But here Reid was... and there was nothing Morgan could do for him.

"Come on, kid," Morgan whispered, "just you hold on. Don't you dare quit on us, Reid!"

Still holding his head, the blood filling Reid's lungs caused another harsh coughing fit, his face stitched with pain as his body rocked. Blood spilled out from the corner of his mouth, covering his pristinely white teeth, but then his eyes shot open. Derek was stunned when they pinned on him, the physical pain and the emotional terror he saw in them stabbing him. For a moment, Reid's brow was wrinkled with confusion- perhaps confused to see them, perhaps not comprehending what was happening to him- but then the fog lifted as the coughing fit slowly abated with a series of choking sounds. There was a mixture of gratitude, exhaustion, and ever-present desperation in his expression and Morgan was dimly aware of Reid's arms and hands twitching, as if he was trying to move them but didn't have the strength.

Morgan couldn't focus on what that meant right now.

"That's good, kid." Morgan coached, swallowing his own panic back hard and knowing that it had been audible. Steadying his voice, he put as much conviction and warmth in it as possible to try to reassure the young man in his arms. "Just keep looking at me, Reid. The paramedics are on their way; you're going to be just fine."

Although it was visible that Reid wanted to believe him, the fear didn't budge and another bout of coughing- even worse than before- made his eyes screw shut and his body lurch. Morgan tried to still and support him as much as possible, grimacing at the pathetic sound of the alternatively wet and wheezy exhalations that clearly caused Reid no small ammount of pain. Prentiss was struggling to keep pressure on the wounds and a brief glance revealed that her pale hands were completely covered in smears of crimson, and Morgan forced himself to turn away, fighting reality with every second.

The coughing didn't stop but Reid forced opened his watery eyes again; they roamed over Morgan to Prentiss, then behind her to the rest of the team, and they stilled there for a moment. He could tell they were scared but he also saw the tears and the affection they felt for him as they stared back; Hotch trying to be stern but failing, Rossi controlled but not hiding his emotions, and poor J.J. was wide-eyed and stricken. It sent a pang to his heart to see her so but, for all of this, he felt a deeper well of unexpected serenity and happiness as the realization dawned on him- he wasn't alone.

It stood out to him in stark contrast; the cold and dark and emptiness of his apartment and the fear he'd die without a friendly face to look at or mourn him- the same fear he'd had nearly all his life- to the reception he now had. The darkness was broken by the overhead light, revealing the destroyed but familiar objects in his room, and his team mates mere presense wrapped him in a comforting embrace, seeing the people he loved most were with him and they cared about him. He didn't want to die- he wasn't ready to and his mom still needed him- but he realized he _could_ die like this; as long as he wasn't alone, he could accept it.

Swtiching his gaze back to Morgan- who was so very close to him- he tried to force some semblance of a smile, to make him understand that it was okay and that he was grateful, but it was hard to manage even for a split second as he coughed and hacked convulsively, his protesting chest tightening with every spasm. He could feel the darkness closing in swiftly and with sure power to blanket him and, his mind flickering with the happy and horrible events that had filled his life, a tear slipped from Spencer's eye...

Morgan's breath caught as Reid looked back to him and he saw the silent good-bye he was trying to convey. _No- no!_ Morgan grit his teeth and spoke urgently to his young friend, even as his voice was overwhelmed by the harsh coughing filling the room as an ominous harbinger, and he desperately shook Reid as much as he dared as his eyes began to lose focus.

"Reid! _Reid!"_ Morgan called. His efforts were abruptly stalled as his attention suddenly caught on a tear falling down Reid's cheek, sliding past cuts and bruises and collecting blood that tinted it red, and he stared at it with terror as it met his hand and he felt the warmth. It was the warmth of the living but it was also a farewell; a final token of the life from which it was born but that would soon vanish...

"No- _no_ Reid! You're _not_ going to do this!" Morgan yelled, pulling himself back from his shock to look at Reid with renewed ardor and determination. "You're going to hold on! You're going to be _strong!_"

As the final word passed Morgan's lips, Reid stopped coughing- stopped breathing- his eyes glazing over. And the room was suddenly abandoned to encompassing stillness and silence.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes and Disclaimers:** standard

**Chapter 3**

_The events of yesterday never vanish; they are stones paving our way_

_on paths that ever turn to invisible horizons._

Morgan stood with his back against the SUV, his knees weak and his frame riddled with invisible tremors he would have been embaressed to be seen but didn't even notice himself. Instead, his gaze was transfixed on his hands, pressed together and caked with dark, drying blood. Lights of police cruisers flickered at his periphery, disrupting the darkness but not dispelling it. There were voices and crime scene investigators scouring the grounds and house for traces of the UnSub, perhaps hoping he'd been wounded and had collapsed somewhere in the nearby woods. Rossi was directing the officers in the absense of Hotch, who had _other_ things to oversee- things only a next of kin could.

Normally, Morgan would have been charging at the forefront of the investigation, angry and determined to get the one responsible and make them pay, but instead he was numb, his default response and coping mechanism shut off as Reid's face persisted behind his eyes. His friend in unspeakable pain, helpless, falling hopelessly into darkness, and the warmth of Reid's blood between Morgan's fingers replayed in his mind again, repeating without end or letup; he heard his voice rising as Spencer fell into the unreachable oblivion, ordering him to hold on.

The paramedics had rushed in and pushed Morgan away but, half-an-hour later, he could still feel the weight of Reid's head in his palm and the dew of the tear that had slipped onto his thumb. His chest was tight, his jaw was clenched with such force it throbbed, and his throat was raw- more from the lumps that clogged it than his futile screaming at Reid. At once his anguish contended with his outrage but, unable to do anything about either and chained by that awareness, he stood hunched over against the SUV, his body heavy and rigid.

Tears stung the corners of his eyes but he refused to let them come to full birth, even as his mind unbiddenly returned to the house and the attrocity that had been commited there- to his friend. Morgan had seen more crime scenes than he could count and he knew the standard enviroment well enough to know Reid's apartment wasn't the worst, but it wasn't just any crime scene or any victim and the reality of it breached all of Morgan's defenses, refusing to leave him; the toppled furniture, the torn curtens and slashed bed, the pools and streaks of blood that ran from one end of the apartment to the other and back again, the familiar copper odor that choked the air... and it all led to Reid, a heaving mass on the floor laying wrapped in his own vital fluids. The wheezing and coughs had been a horrible assault to Morgan's ears, but the silence that had followed... the silence was even worse.

And it was the silence that was killing Morgan.

He closed his eyes as the faces of the paramedics working on Reid flashed in his mind; _they were giving him CPR and pushing on his chest with all their might, causing more blood to spill out with every compression. Reid's body rocked with the force but his eyes remained glazed- open and unblinking and still trained on Morgan, although they'd ceased to see anything at all. Morgan stared back, horrified by the emptiness in the depths, and he felt himself imploding into a rapidly growing cavern inside of himself. He had no sense of breath or sensation, no idea of their being an outside world and careless of the other people around him. Nothing mattered and nothing existed except the man before him and the adamant refusal that screamed inside Morgan; this wasn't it! This wasn't over! Reid couldn't be gone; he just _couldn't_ be!_

_The paramedic's halted the CPR and one pressed their fingers to Reid's pale and bloody neck. Morgan waited an eternity for one of them to announce that they'd found a pulse; instead, the paramedic shook his head._

"Morgan."

Jumping slightly in alarm and sucking a sharp breath that was made all the sharper by the freshly stinging tears he was determined to restrain- especially in front of others- Morgan straightened to face Rossi, who'd been walking towards him from the house and was now slowing as he neared.

"Sorry," Rossi appologised, seeing Morgan's start. He was silent for a brief second as he studied the younger agent but, despite it being obvious there was a lot wrong, he ultimately chose not to comment on it. After all, he wasn't doing much better himself. "The dogs will be here in a few minutes to search the grounds. If the UnSub ran into the woods, we should be able to pick up his trail." he informed.

Morgan was bitterly skeptical on that point. "You really think someone attacked an FBI agent, then didn't have any better plan than to _run into the woods_?" he asked.

Rossi understood and, although his reply was subdued and tinted with sorrow, he knew it was up to him to keep up morale as much as possible. "We don't yet know the mental stability of the UnSub or how organized he is and, until we do, it's best to cover all our bases. We also have alerts out to all the hospitals and clinics in the area for patients with gunshot or stab wounds. The CSI team says all eight rounds in Reid's gun were fired but, so far, they've only found five bullet holes in the walls and furniture, which means the UnSub was probably hit at least a few times."

However glad the thought of the UnSub being injured made him or proud of Reid for putting up a fight he was, it wasn't remotely enough to make things better. Anger swelling in him along with grief, Morgan turned his head away briefly to conceal his emotions.

"He never had a chance." he stated through clenched teeth. Regarding Rossi again, his eyes burned, flashing with indignation as he stared at his partner. "He was attacked the moment he stepped foot in the house! From _behind_- like a coward!" he spat vindictavely, obviously speaking of the UnSub with the last remark.

Struggling with his composure at Morgan's words and replaying images of their brutalized protogee, Rossi swallowed hard and took a step closer to Morgan. "We're going to find this scumbag." he vowed, iron resolve resonating in his voice. The police lights flashed across their faces and caught the sheen of both men's unshed tears but, unlike Morgan, Rossi wasn't embarressed by his own emotional vulnerability.

"If we have to hunt him to every corner of the Earth and search under every rock and sea, none of us are stopping until he's locked away for life, paying for what he did." Rossi continued with almost frightening determination and ire. It was one that every member of their team shared.

"But that means we have to keep our heads together," Rossi continued, "and be strong- for Reid."

Morgan nodded his agreement but his anguish was visible at the mention of Reid and the question it brought back to him. "And what if_ he _isn't strong enough?" he asked, his throat tightening painfully and anger still present on his features- at what had been done to Reid, at the person responsible, at the possibility he still might lose one of his best friends that night. "He came back once, but what if he can't make it through?" _What if he's gone already, and we just haven't gotten the call?_

He remembered the moment the paramedics announced they'd a gotten a pulse; by that time, more paramedics had arrived an a defibrilator had been brought in. Twice Reid had been shocked, his body lurching with the charge, and the horror had been acute when he didn't respond. When he did come back on the third shock, he still wasn't breathing and they had to keep him bagged as they hurried to secure and ready him for transport to the hospital. It wasn't fast enough for anyone's liking and they'd all seen the looks of concern on the paramedics' faces as they'd loaded Reid onto the ambulance, only Hotch accompanying him in the front passenger seat.

There wasn't room for anybody else.

**I'm so sorry- what a place to end it! But I haven't worked on this story in ages and I know I won't finish it. I did have a really extensive plot in mind, which would bring back Gideon and involve him and Reid being kidnapped and the discovery of a second unsub, but, like I said, I've lost my zeal and I'm trying to focus on more serious writing. But thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed this- feel free to make up your own ending to this! Please, please, please review! (P.S., sorry for any and all spelling errors- I couldn't find a spell check.)**


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